


Double fertilisation

by Kapla_Quail



Category: Starfighter (Comic), Starfighter Eclipse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Plants, Animals, Biology, Botany, Bugs & Insects, Crack, First Time, I'm not corrupted, Marcel Proust sends his regards, Other, Plants, RBG-dunnock, Selene might be slightly out of character, Selene-bee, Set-Up, This is plant-AU, Vicks-hare, arranged date, devil's hair!Cain, excessive biology, hawthorn!Abel, hawthorn!Cook, hawthorn!Encke, hawthorn!Ethos, hawthorn!Keeler, hawthorn!Phobos, hedges, hornbeam!Praxis, insect pollination, rose!Deimos, that's how plants do it, you're corrupted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-12 02:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19938772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kapla_Quail/pseuds/Kapla_Quail
Summary: 'You are fond of hawthorns; just look at this pink one; isn't it pretty?'Marcel Proust, Swann's Way





	Double fertilisation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [on_the_wing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_wing/gifts), [GoodyearTheShippyCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodyearTheShippyCat/gifts).



> "And then I returned to my hawthorns, and stood before them as one stands before those masterpieces of painting which, one imagines, one will be better able to ‘take in’ when one has looked away, for a moment, at something else; but in vain did I shape my fingers into a frame, so as to have nothing but the hawthorns before my eyes; the sentiment which they aroused in me remained obscure and vague, struggling and failing to free itself, to float across and become one with the flowers. They themselves offered me no enlightenment, and I could not call upon any other flowers to satisfy this mysterious longing.”  
> Marcel Proust, Swann's Way

Once upon a time, there was a country. Situated at the edge of Europe, composed of hundreds of islands surrounded by the swollen sea, it was a peaceful country, sparsely populated by happy people that went by bike and still grew their food in fields. Thus, this flat, wild country was painted with the eternal green of plants. 

And one of those plants was Keeler.

Keeler was a hawthorn. A single seeded hawthorn to be exact, small still, but with a wonderfully hairy calyx when he blossomed. He was young and had only experienced a few summers, sheltered and girdled in a hedge bank composed of other white and fragrant hawthorns like himself. 

Keeler was happy to be living here amongst his own kind. Years ago, Cook, the tallest, most splendid hawthorn of all, had proudly named their home the 'Sleipnir', and every animal and every plant next to the large barley field spoke with admiration about this very hedge.

It was spring again, and the air was mild. Keeler's roots stretched in the ground more easily, and his branches leaned against those of his neighbour bushes Phobos and Ethos. Cook watched over all the others, making sure the Sleipnir-hedge could unfurl and shine this year again.

In the Sleipnir, it never got lonely. Keeler had many friends among the birds and insects that visited regularly, and he was always eager to hear the news the does had to tell, and Vicks, the auburn hare. Sometimes, they told him stories that sounded unbelievable, stories that must be from another world. Keeler always had to make sure Cook didn't hear those stories, because the 'commander' loathed everything that lay beyond the barley field from the depth of his heart. Keeler, however, was intrigued when he listened to his friends whisper about the feral bushes...in the colonies...

'The colonies' – that was what Cook called the other hedge bank, the one on the other side of the field. Technically, not even he was tall enough to catch a glimpse of the plants living there, so they remained a mystery. On sultry summer nights, however, Keeler could _smell _them...__

____

____

Undoubtedly, there was the perfume of a rose. Also, Keeler could recognize the dubious scent of a devil's hair, and the dull fragrance of a hornbeam, amongst others. But the smell that enticed him most was that of a midland hawthorn, so full and heavy the air seemed to be throbbing with it. And so were Keeler's buds. Whenever the waves of this sweet scent reached him, it was like his whole sprout was about to burst in sweet anticipation of something dark, something...unspeakable.

"The colonists? Ah, they're like a pack of wild dogs”, Bazin, the dunnock, whispered to Keeler one day while Cook was busy with his latest 'obsession'. "Over there, there's a hodgepodge of plants growing together in one promiscuous tangle, no beautiful sight, believe me. It's a cesspool of inquity where nobody cares about bloodstock. Can you even imagine that?”

Keeler couldn't. Cook had always inculcated him with the idea that a hawthorn had to stick to a hawthorn – especially the single-seeded ones that were the purest breed, as everyone knew. And now Keeler learned about a place without those rules, a place where every weed was allowed to send out its pollen, unrestrained. A place where, apparently, there was a pure hawthorn mingling with a devil's hair, and a dog rose was winding its branches right into those of a tall, dark hornbeam!

"They've been living together like this for years already”, Bazin chirped into Keeler's fresh, young leaves, Phobos and Ethos leaning close excitedly to avoid missing these shocking tales. 

"The nightingale said they fell in love. And when the hornbeam was damaged in that massive thunderstorm two years ago, Deimos, the rose, intertwined his shoots with the tree to support him and help him heal.”

Keeler gasped. Phobos' leaves rustled, too, in appreciative terror. 

"But... doesn't the rose hurt him?”

"Oh, of course it does”, the sassy dunnock chirped. "But as one hears, he likes it.” 

And Keeler, Ethos, and Phobos shivered in excitement.

At night, Keeler wanted to rest. He wanted to stop his photosynthesis, he wanted to absorb more oxygen into his leaves. But somehow, he couldn't. He was kept awake by his own arousing visions of a silent rosebush, twining its tendrils slowly and firmly upwards around the branches of a hornbeam, pricking and stabbing its thorns into his phellem on its way without mercy, eliciting moans of pain and pleasure from its dark, tall partner.

The milder the nights got, the harder it was to banish those sinful thoughts from his mind. Keeler caught himself daydreaming about the forbidden liaison, missing parts of conversations with his friends and getting scolded by Cook for his wanting growth in girth. He couldn't pin down what was going on with him. But it felt like something had been awoken in him, and the tantalizing smell of the midland hawthorn somewhere in the colonies played a significant role in it. Keeler felt he had to do something about it. And keep it secret. 

It was time for a shady plan.

The next day, Keeler waited with impatience for his best friend to visit him. If there was anybody who could help him out of his misery, it was Selene, the hardworking little bee he had grown to treasure because of its intelligence and kindness. 

And Selene was fond of its favourite bush, too. Keeler didn't have to wait for long.

"Selene!”, the hawthorn exclaimed, hearing the familiar buzz of the pollinator's wings. 

He felt the little creature settle in one of his inflorescences, and after a quick check to ascertain that Cook was distracted with his own pollinators, Keeler decided to put it straight immediately. 

"Selene, I'm so glad to see you! I need your help”, he whispered.

Selene crawled around in his twigs. "Sweetheart, you look puny”, the bee noted worriedly. "Why aren't your flowers open yet? You don't have the fire blight, have you?”

Keeler's turgor dropped. "No, I-I don't think so...I think I've fallen in love.”

There was a moment of silence. "No!”, the bee then exclaimed, laughing. "Really? Our white paragon of sublime virtue, in love? Oh thank Mother, sweetie! I thought it would never happen!”

Keeler shook the branch whereon Selene was resting in a huff. "Are you done making fun of me? Will you help me, or not?”

Selene buzzed reassuringly. "Of course I will. Who would I be to stand in your way when blossoming time is at the ready? Tell me, honey: who is the one I should pay a visit to? Who is the chosen one?”

The hawthorn should have known the curiosity and overzealous nature of his little winged friend. He had hoped to explain himself through subtleties, but apparently this was wasted. He had to spit it out.

"It's a hawthorn”, Keeler whispered, embarrassed and barely audible. "I can smell his odour wafting over from the colonies, this _bitter-sweet fragrance of almonds stealing towards me _...”__

____

____

"Aww”, Selene chuckled, heart-warmed. "Getting poetic already, little one? Which bush could have such an intriguing odour, I wonder? Do you maybe mean Encke, the tall midland one?”

The hawthorn froze as if struck with lightning. "What, you know him?”

The pollinator smirked. "Well, of course. I've been inside every flower in a radius of three kilometres, did you forget that?”

Keeler's water flushed hot through his tracheae.

"Listen, sweetheart”, Selene went on. "I've lived among plants long enough to know there's only one thing to heal your disease, to satisfy your longings. You can't think your feelings away, dear, so don't even try. I'll fly over to the colonies and try to talk to your underbred crush, see what I can achieve. But you have to pull yourself together and start flowering finally! If you don't do it now, your sexy lowlife will be all spent already and you won't find a partner this year at all!”

Keeler bowed his branches, defeated.

"Unfortunately I have a meeting with the queen this afternoon, but I promise to report back to you tomorrow morning. Be brave, little one! Help is on its way!”

Bolstering him up like that, the bee took off eagerly and all Keeler could do was wait for its return.

Selene came back to the Sleipnir-hedge the next day at noon. It was a perfect moment, because all the other hawthorns, the lucky ones overflowing with flowers, were in the middle of the usual annual frenzy of pollination.

During the last night, Keeler had tried to pull as many solutes into his cells as possible, and had finally managed to open some flowers. They were pathetically few, but Selene had to acknowledge that the ones he had opened were perfection in taste, smell and shape.

"Keeler, your hairy calyx! Your delicious fluids!”, the bee moaned. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

And it plunged into Keeler's perianth hungrily.

"Selene”, Keeler sighed. "Gathering food can wait , can't it? Get to the point. Did you speak to him? What did he say?”

"This hawthorn, my dear”, Selene waxed lyrical while literally bathing itself in nectar, "is the cutest creature that ever grew roots in our soil. Well, after you, of course. You know what he told me? He said he held back his flowering this year because he missed a certain pollen that he had enjoyed most last year! He meant you, sweetheart!”

Keeler gulped. "He noticed me?”

"I of course didn't hold myself back and told him everything about your amourous languor to convince him to take part in our plan.”

"You did what?” If his flowers hadn't been white anyway, Keeler was sure they might have lost their colour due to shock.

"Ah, you should have seen his flowers get that cute pink impact at that! While I was inside him, I had to tell him all about you. About your slender growth, your perfect petals, your seductive hair... He said he could smell you on me, and that he wanted nothing else than to share his pollen with you. But I was supposed to ask you if you were really sure. He said he wouldn't want to do anything against your will, that you could always say 'no' when you felt you weren't ready to... you know, beget a hybrid with him. He said it might feel different from what you're used to.”

Keeler gulped again, probably getting a pink impact, too. "He's not an ugly underbred, is he?”, the hawthorn whispered.

"No, honey! He's tall and strong, with gorgeous thick, rippling bark, hard and heavy wood of the kind you like and the longest thorns I ever saw. His pollen is going to be amazing!”

"Dear God, Selene”, Keeler sighed. "Let's do it. I'm more than ready.”

And thus, Selene sprung into action. 

Keeler and him had stipulated to tackle only one of his flowers for Encke's pollen as not to arouse suspicion, but the bee had a really hard time choosing one. All of Keeler's stigmata awaited the pollination with blatant impatience, welcoming the bee so perfectly slick and tacky, so turgid and ample...

With shivers of satisfaction, Selene deposited the pollen on the chosen flower. But before it became too hot and heavy there, it decided to fly off. Selene was an honourable bee and no vulgar wasp; it didn't want to spy on its friend's big moment like some pervy peeper!

Keeler, however, probably wouldn't have noticed anyway. From the moment the delicious pollen had met his stigma, he had entered a state of total voluptuousness, and all his other flowers as well as everything around him had suddenly lost importance. He even forgot that he was about to do something forbidden. All Keeler could think of, all he could concentrate on was this delicious feeling of being complete, and still he wanted more of it. He needed more of it. He would never have thought he was even capable of craving it so much.

“Oh Mother, please”, Keeler begged, fidgety and needy like a seedling. And he got what he asked for.

Encke must be such a strong bush! Keeler could feel how slowly but surely Encke's pollen tube started to emerge and to push through the tight tissue of his stigma. It was shallow and sweet at first, a delicious tension building up until the tube was growing deeper and deeper inside him, mercilessly stretching his style to the point where the sweetness gave way to pain and he thought he couldn't take it any more. 

"Encke!”, Keeler sobbed into the wind, "No!” 

But now, it was of course much too late to stop. Keeler sighed and moaned and was lucky the wind carried his cries away with it. Lucky also that Ethos, Phobos and Cook were experiencing their own delights right now and did not listen to their small comrade.

Keeler couldn't tell pain from pleasure in the moment the tube finally penetrated the micropyle of his ovule. This seizure was always the craziest moment, like a small death, but with Encke's vigorous pollen tube the pressure at the edge of his synergids became almost unbearable. Keeler's integuments were straining, about to tear, and Keeler would have panicked had there not been Encke's scent in the air, wrapping him up in a cloud of comfort, assuring him all would be well very soon.

Keeler lost track of time. Even if this was too much, at the same time it was everything the white bush had ever wanted. All of a sudden, he came to realize that this feeling of being filled so entirely was the whole reason he had started a growth in girth altogether. This was so different from any pollination he had experienced before! There was a whole new world opening up for the slender bush. After this experience, reproduction would never be what it once was. 

And then the pollen tube finally reached the perfect place, this one place deep down where it was so hot and good and slick that it was worth everything. It was perfect. It felt fantastic. Keeler gasped when the two generative cores burst out into his gametophyte, uniting with his egg cell and his central cell nuclei in a climax that took his breath away. 

He saw snow and stars, a field of white lust, it was like flying and falling at the same time, and with his last remaining cells Keeler thought that this was how gametogamy really was supposed to feel like.

Then, for a long moment, Keeler stopped thinking entirely.

Keeler shuddered when he slowly came down from it, when the sweet, addictive tension transformed, spilling down his tired branches. He knew immediately that it had worked. He could feel it, and he was so happy about it like never before in his life. 

He would grow Encke's semen out of this nice, little embryo he was carrying now. He would create lovely fruits to contain it, he would do everything in his power to make these cute little hybrids thrive and grow. These babies were a sign of a love that crossed the borders between conventional morality, between the Sleipnir and the colonies, between their species even. A love that gave life to something beautiful. Their love.

"And next year”, Keeler thought with determination and pride, "I'm going to reciprocate.”

**Author's Note:**

> A dunnock (Prunella modularis) is a small bird, found throughout temperate Europe and into Asia. Other common names of the dunnock include the hedge accentor, hedge sparrow, or hedge warbler.
> 
> 'Devil's hair' (or also 'love wine') are other names for Clematis virginiana. Granted, this plant shouldn't be found in Denmark, but these names and the plant's look were so fitting for Cain, I couldn't resist.
> 
> For more information about the effects of the sexy hawthorn smell on Marcel Proust, please consult your local bookseller. For information about the use of hawthorn in case of cardiac insufficiency, consult your local pharmacist (or the Lead Navigator).


End file.
